Drabbles - Ya Know I love 'em
by FairDrea
Summary: From a Tmblr post by BD-Z. 15 Halloween drabbles based on my favorite couple - Lydia and Beetlejuice and 15 prompts. One a day for the next 15 days! Come along for the ride - if you dare!
1. Sugar Rush

Drabble Numero Uno!

Part of a "15 Halloween Drabbles" post on Tmblr, courtesy of the lovely db-z. :) She started me off with Beetlejuice and Lydia, naturally and the word prompt "Sugar Rush." So here it goes! 14 more to come! :)

Someone do me a favor and suggest the next. First suggestion wins! Here's the list -

Drabble prompts:

1) Spells

2) Trick or Treat

3) Pumpkin Carving

4) Eating Candy

5) Getting dressed up

6)Decorating

7) Scary Movies

8) Brewing

9) Storytelling

10) Halloween Party

11) Masquerade

12)Spider/Spiderwebs

13) Sugar Rush

14) Haunted House

15) Graveyard

 **Sugar Rush**

She was high.

He had no idea on what but he was sure it was something he wanted no part of. Which, for him, was pretty damn surprising. Usually, he was up for anything, _everything._ But whatever had Lydia firmly in its grasp, he wanted no part of.

She was nearly dancing around her room, feet bare, hair down, hands waving around in the air, talking a mile a minute and only half of what she was saying he actually understood.

"I mean, really Beetlejuice, you would think that when I walked in the room there were spiders all over my head and all of the overhead lights were shattering and there were wolves following cats, following sheep, following me. It was ridiculous!"

"Um, Babes-," he tried interrupting, holding up a hand to interrupt as she breezed past him. She hopped up on her bed, kicking the blankets around as she walked across the mattress and jumped off the other side.

"And she was all 'oh, Lydia, you really shouldn't have come today' and I was all like 'Yes, Claire, I know. But I did, so bite me.' And then I got sent to the principal's office….to the PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!"

He winced, her shrill scream hurting his ears. "Yeesh, Lyds, what the hell-."

And then he noticed it. In a pile spilling off of her nightstand - wrappers. Empty wrappers. He grinned, shaking his head.

"Lyds, did you eat _all_ of the Neitherworld Halloween candy?" he asked.

Finally, she stopped, blinking at him in confusion. "Not _all_ of it."

And back she went to her agitated pacing, rattling on and on with no end to her sentences in sight. All of it or some - it didn't matter. Neitherworld candy wasn't something to mess around with. In hindsight, he probably should have told her that. One piece was about all you needed - for a month. Any more than that and the effect was profound. Most were created to make the dead feel alive again. Apparently, if you weren't dead, it just made you-.

"Way more alive," he muttered.

As she spun past him, he grabbed her shoulders and forced her to stop. "Do me a favor, would ya?"

Her brows furrowed, annoyance flashing across her porcelain features. "What."

Inspired, he leaned down and captured her pursed lips in a quick kiss. With a gasp, she stumbled back, clearly caught off guard.

"Call me back when you're done ridin' the Neitherworld Sugar Rush Express, would ya?"

Her lips turned up in a slow smile, a flush staining her cheeks a pretty color. "Um...sure, Beej."

"Later, Babes," he said, giving her a salute and a wink.

Third time's a charm and he was off with a cackle, feeling a bit of a rush himself. Kissing Lydia Deetz was a rush he could cheerfully compare to the effects of the candy. Only difference was - she tasted a hell of a lot better.


	2. Trick-or-Treat

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm going in order of suggestions by review and I've got the next few lined up. Next up - Trick-or-Treat! Enjoy!

*Usual disclaimer applies - I own nothing of Beetlejuice and make no profit from the writing of this fic*

 **Trick or Treat**

"We have to stay in tonight, Beej. I'm sorry."

Lydia winced when his her best friend's jaw dropped, clanging against the floor of her bedroom. With a roll of her eyes, she stepped around him, patting his shoulder as she passed. "Pick your jaw up off the floor."

"Babes! Stay in? On Halloween?!" Beetlejuice whined, floating after her. "Why?"

"Because Delia and dad are out at some costume party that's adult only and I'm too old to trick or treat," she explained. "Delia has made it her mission every October to have _the_ house that trick-or-treaters can't pass up." At a grumble, she added, "She just assumed that I'd want to take over for her tonight."

"You mean, she didn't ask?" Beetlejuice floated above her, forcing her to stop in her tracks when he blocked her path, hanging upside down. "This is my shocked face."

His face remained expressionless and for the first time that night, Lydia laughed. "Yeah, I know. How considerate, right?" She reached out, tugging on his hair gently. "Get down. I'm sure Trick-or-Treaters will be showing up soon and I don't want to have to explain a dead guy levitating in my entry way."

Beetlejuice grinned and waved her comments off. "It's Halloween, Babes. Why would you have to explain anything? Besides, old Del's wants the best house on the block - what's better than an actual ghost pulling tricks at the door?"

"You will _not_ be pulling any tricks tonight, Beej." She poked him in the chest, forcing a stern glare.

"Aw, Babes...come on! It's _Halloween_!"

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a pointed look. Beetlejuice flipped over and floated down until he was standing in front of her. He was sulking which was making it extremely difficult for her to keep her lips from twitching into a smile. She loved her friend, and she truly enjoyed lording her power over him sometimes. Power which, as the years wore on and their friendship shifted and strengthened, manifested into something Lydia didn't altogether understand but was always willing to test.

 _I could test it right now_ , she thought, a shiver of anticipation skirting up her spine and quickening her pulse.

"Oh, Beej," she murmured, stepping closer to him. "You're so needy sometimes. Tell you what-." She reached out, smoothing her hands over the lapels of his striped suit coat. "You can trick, _but!"_ she quickly added when his grin turned downright maniacal. "Spook level tricking. Not scare-to-death tricking. And-."

"And?! Jeez, Babes - maybe I should just go back to the Neitherworld! Rules really take the fun out of scaring the living, ya know."

"And," she repeated, hand gripping his tie and pulling him down. "I get a treat."

He looked confused for a moment. But only a moment. When it counted, Beetlejuice caught on quick. And right now, it counted.

"A treat, huh?" his eyes narrowed slightly, his grin softening. "What kinda treat are you thinkin'?"

Her breath caught when his gaze dipped to her mouth. "Surprise me," she murmured.

Silence fell between them, silence that twisted the anxiety building in her stomach into unbearable knots.  
"I've got just the thing-."

He leaned in just enough to give her hope, and then, with a loud snap and leaving nothing but a few beetles and worms in his wake, was gone.

"If I hurry, I can still get to Bug Crunch Cafe before it closes! Be right back, Lyds!" his voice echoed as he moved from her world to his.

Lydia closed her eyes, counted to ten and tried to get her emotions under control. It was a losing battle, and she knew it. Especially when she had a feeling he was well aware of just how much he had left her hanging.

"Damn it, Beetlejuice," she muttered. The doorbell rang and with a deep sigh, she went to answer it, snagging the bowl of brightly packaged Halloween goodies Delia had left on the entryway table. Hopefully, that the treat she had _really_ wanted happen before the night was done. Knowing Beetlejuice though, she wouldn't hold her breath.


	3. Scary Movie

**A/N:** Hopefully the typos aren't too bad. It's late and I'm sooo so very tired. But had to get one more up. Thank you all for the reviews! I'm glad you're getting a kick out of these! :D

 **Scary Movie**

Beetlejuice had spent days searching for the perfect scary movie for his Friday night with Lydia. Days filled with excruciating hours filled with agonizing minutes. It wasn't easy finding a movie that would creep out the young woman. She kept constant company with one of the most, in his opinion, prestigious poltergeists to ever grace the land of the dead. Topping that was next to impossible.

The movie had to be one that would get under her skin and really mess with her head. And most importantly, it had to be one that would get her right where he wanted her - curled up next to him, allowing him the perfect opportunity to push the boundaries of a friendship he felt almost certain both of them were questioning on some level - questioning where they stood and at what point a hug or arm around the waist became something a little more than just friendly. Questioning it to the point that what the ghouls in his world or the stiffs in hers thought didn't matter one bit.

Without the option for an hour and a half feature film on Claire Brewster shoe shopping, he'd settled for a classic 80's slasher fic - one neither of them had seen before.

It sat on the end table next to his couch. The one Beetlejuice was pacing restlessly back and forth in front of, waiting for Lydia to call him over.

He'd been antsy all week just to be alone with her. College life didn't allow for much down time, so what little time he _did_ have with her, he had to make damn good use of.

Finally, it came - the whisper of his name on her sweet lips, drifting between their worlds like a heavy mist. The second time, it was louder. The third, it was almost as if she were standing right beside him. The euphoric rush of the veil between their worlds slipping away and giving him a free pass to the other side washed over him. He could never remember if it had been like this when other breathers had called him over or if it was specific to his Lydia.

 _Sentimental crap, pal. Doesn't matter. You've got better things to do._

Snatching the movie from the table, he passed over to her world, appearing on the tiny kitchen counter of her one bedroom apartment. A bowl of popcorn sat on the stove next to a full glass of red wine.

Lydia wasn't one of those "fill it to the fancy point" wine drinkers. If she had a glass that would fit half a bottle, she made that glass fit half a bottle.

The overhead light on the stove was on as well as the floor lamp that sat in the corner next to the couch. She called it a loveseat, and although he'd made plenty of silent suggestive remarks in regards to the piece of furniture, he refused to refer to it as a "love seat" out loud.

The rest of the apartment was dark and silent.

 _Wait a minute-._

He caught sight of the sliver of light peeking out from underneath the door that lead to Lydia's bedroom.

Beetlejuice grinned deviously, rubbing his hands together. "Might as well set the mood."

Hopping off the counter and going to the front door, he unlocked the deadbolt, opened the door and slammed it shut with enough force to carry the sound through the apartment. Then, clearing his throat, he called out, "Oh, Lydia!", sounding so much like Delia Deetz that he scared himself a bit.

A second later, the bedroom door flew open and Lydia came around the corner at a near run.

Her stricken face and wide, startled eyes were just the reaction he was hoping for.

"Boo!" he yelped, laughing.  
Lydia glared at him, smacking his arm. "You ass! That's not funny!"  
"Are you kidding me, Babes? That's hilarious!"

"Right," she gave him one of those looks he couldn't help but love - when one brow arched and only one corner of her lips tilted up in the faintest hint of a sarcastic smile. She'd perfected that look and it got him every damn time. "Notice how only one of us is laughing right now."

She sashayed past him, catching his tie and flipping up in his face. "Beers in the fridge if you want one. What did you manage to find?"

He snagged a bottle of cold brew from the bottom shelf before joining her in the living room, making himself perfectly comfortable and enjoying the view of her bent over, loading the dvd in the player. "Some old slasher flick. Nothin' I've ever heard of before, but the guy behind the counter said it would scare the hell out of even the sickest freaks."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, flashing him a smirk. "We'll see about that."

The DVD menu appeared on the screen and Lydia joined him on the couch, grabbing the blanket hanging over the arm of the matching chair and flopping down beside him.

"Guy said somethin' about some porn-level gore too," Beetlejuice said, arms going up as Lydia reached over him for the remote on the end table. "Not sure what that means."

"That sounds a bit on the shady side." She moved closer to him, taking up her usual spot under his arm and pulling the blanket up around her. "The guy didn't explain anything beyond that?'

Beetlejuice shrugged. He took full advantage of having Lydia so close, dropping an arm around her shoulders and kicking his booted feet up on the table. "Didn't really think to ask, Babes. You want to watch the movie and find out or did you want to keep talkin' about it?"

Emitting a sound of feigned disgust, she elbowed him lightly in the side and then settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder and planting her dainty bare feet next to his. She placed the bowl of popcorn between them as the opening credits rolled and ominous music filled the small room.

"Hm, zero points for creativity," Beetlejuice muttered.

Lydia nodded. "Didn't they use the same opening film score in Night of the Misfit Mummies?"

"Sounds like it. Let's hope this one isn't as cheesy as that."

Ten minutes in and Beetlejuice was intrigued, but not intrigued enough to let the movie derail his plans entirely. Lydia was paying rapt attention, clearly immersed in the above-par plot line. Now would be a good time to see just what he could manage to pull off without making anything horribly uncomfortable between them.

He shifted slightly, turning his body so that his back was resting more against the arm of the couch. Lydia was hardly aware of the movement, settling back against him without showing even the slightest hint that she minded having to use his chest as a pillow now instead of his shoulder. Another ten minutes went by and he dropped his hand to her arm, letting it rest there for a minute before slowly dragging his fingertips up and down the exposed flesh. Again, she seemed oblivious.

It wasn't until she set the popcorn aside that he started to think he wasn't the only one up to this little game. She moved her feet to the couch, placed her hand on his chest and slid it upward until it was resting next to her cheek.

 _Damn Lyds...if only you knew what you were doin' to me-.  
_ As smart as she was, she probably had a good idea.

Risking another chance, he placed his free hand over hers. She countered by lacing her fingers through his.

Tension sizzled around them, tangible only in the atmosphere. Every tiny move was now a means to an end, altering the mood and tempting them both to take the next cautious step - a brush of her thumb over his, his hand moving from her arm to her waist, slipping just underneath the hem of her shirt, her capable fingertips sliding between the buttons of his dress shirt and caressing the cold skin beneath.

Beetlejuice wasn't entirely patient with the game they'd started, though. Sure, it had been interesting to begin with, but now the idea of those full lips on his was less of a distraction and more of a want that he was growing increasingly impatient for.

He grasped her hand and pulled it up to his mouth, leaning down to kiss the inside of her wrist and her entire body shivered.

She lifted her head, her gaze holding his as he did it again, this time nipping the skin.

Her breath caught. "Beej-."

"Chaaaaaaaarles!"

They both froze, the sound of Delia's voice more effective than an entire dump truck full of ice being poured over them. Slowly, they turned to the television where a much younger looking Delia was walking through a thickly wooded forest, calling for Charles again.

"Um...why is your step mom in a horror movie?" Beetlejuice muttered, caught so off guard by the sudden appearance of the shrill woman that he forgot all about his intentions.

"I...have no idea," Lydia replied.

Young Delia walked into a clearing where a small cabin sat, dark and presumably empty. She looked around the clearing, hesitating only for a moment before going to the cabin and knocking. A noise in the distant startled her and she gasped, pressing herself against the door and looking wildly around for the source of the noise. Suddenly, the door opened and and there, in a torn flannel shirt and blood-stained jeans, blond hair wild around a face that looked possessed, was Charles.

"Dad?" Lydia questioned, her voice a tiny squeak of disbelief.

"Charles," Delia gasped, pressing her hand dramatically to her chest. "What's wrong? You look...abnormal. Charles-."

Eyes glowing a feral red, Charles grasped Delia's wrist and yanked her forward.

"Oh no-, Beetlejuice suddenly had a very bad feeling that he knew exactly where this was going. "I think-"

Monster Charles pulled Delia inside, then grasped the neckline of her dress shirt and tore at it, ripping the other buttons free and leaving her shirt gaping open.

"Oh, my god-" Lydia moaned, "Turn it off...turn it off!"

She reached desperately for the remote at the same time he did, both frantic to turn the movie off before they ended up with images of her parents going at it burned into their brains. The moaning was already starting, both Charles and Delia clearly getting carried away with their roles.

"I'm going to be sick," Beetlejuice yelped.

Lydia pointed the remote at the television and turned the TV off, just as things were starting to get wildly out of control on screen.

They sat in silence, Beetlejuice on one side of the couch and Lydia on the other.

"Well, it's late-," Lydia started uncomfortably, standing up and taking a few steps backwards.

Beetlejuice latched on to the hidden invite, not able to look her in the eye as he stood. "Yeah, it sure is, Babes. Got lots to do tomorrow-."

"I've to class at eight, a project for sociology I haven't started on yet-."

"Gotta take Doomie in for a tune up. He's been sounding pretty awful."

"Should probably shower before bed-."

"Same. There's a jug of acid with my name on it. Might have to use some on my eyes."

Lydia laughed nervously. "Yeah, wish I could do the same."

With a regretful smile, Beetlejuice lifted a hand. "Night, Lyds."

Finally she looked at him, the same regret he was feeling flaring briefly in her eyes. "Night, Beej."

No amount of her looking at him like that, however, could erase the image of Delia and Charles from his brain.

 _Scariest damn movie I've ever seen,_ he thoguht, snapping his fingers and disappearing back to the Neitherworld. Maybe an acid bath wasn't such a bad idea afterall. One thing was for sure - now that he had a taste of his own medicine, so to speak, he sure as hell wasn't going to be scaring Lydia by impersonating her step-mother ever again.


	4. Masquerade

**A/N:** And now - to sucker punch you all right in the feels. First and only time I will do that in this drabble series - I promise. But the literal sense of the word struck me and I went with it. :)

 **Masquerade**

Beetlejuice was good at faking it. Damn good, in fact.

For the past four years, he'd been in a constant state of faking it to the point that he had seriously contemplated teaching others how to do it. For a price, of course.

However, there was a very large part of him that understood he'd never be able to pull it off. Because when it came to Lydia Deetz and how he felt about her, faking it was one thing. Making light of those feelings was something completely couldn't disrespect it that way.

Oh sure, there were plenty of other things he could and did disrespect on a regular basis.

But Lydia Deetz had never been one of them.

What he could do was love her from the quiet hell of his own mind where being something more than just her crazy, poltergeist best friend was nothing more than a dream that was slowly eating away at what little, frayed sanity remained.

He went to the mirror that separated their world, hoping to get a glimpse of her, to hear those sweet lips call his name and set him free.

And there she was.

She was wrapped in a floor length, backless black gown that shimmered when she shifted, the skirt pulling tight at her knees and flaring out at her feet. She'd highlighted her midnight tresses with silver and swept it away from her face which she had covered with a whimsical, feathered mask of black, blue and green.

 _That's right...she's got that masquerade thingy to go to tonight-._

With no one around to witness the moment and Lydia unaware of his presence, Beetlejuice pressed a hand to the mirror and rested his forehead against the cool, glass surface.

Here she was, getting ready to go to some fancy ass masquerade and he was living in a constant masquerade of his own. If that wasn't the definition of irony, he had no idea what the hell was.

With a flourish, she covered herself with a thick, floor length cloak and swept out of the room, not glancing at the mirror once.

He would fake it. He would keep faking it forever, if he had to.

Too bad faking it couldn't keep an dead heart from breaking.


	5. Spells

**Spells**

It was necessary for the moon needed to be full and the time of day to be late- as close to the witching hour as possible.

It was necessary for the setting to be as close to the dead as one could possibly make it.

And it was necessary….to be willing.

Lydia Deetz was willing.

She wasn't sure why. There was a very distinct voice telling her that what she was about to do was a terrible idea. If she listened to that voice closely enough, she could easily pull Barbara from it. It was the cautious, motherly voice of a woman doing everything she could to protect her child.

Lydia, however, was not her child. And she didn't need protecting.

She knew exactly what she was about to do.

She'd agonized over the act for years, weighing her options, trying to understand how she had come to be so deeply and emotionally steeped in the darkness of her past.

Guilt - maybe.

Curiosity - certainly.

But what drove her was more than that. It wasn't simple or clear. When she tried to picture what exactly it was that kept pulling her back to the idea, all she could see was a flooded forest, submerged in swampy, fogged water, gnarled branches slick with moss twisting towards a surface where a pale hand with blood-red nails waited, open and inviting.

Lydia waited until the year when the moon would be full on the night of All Hallows Eve. It fell on the year of her twenty sixth birthday, favoring her with an unseasonably warm fall and a stillness that was unsettling. As the town of Winter River lulled into silence and slumber, Lydia walked calmly through the gates of the cemetery, the red skirts of her wedding dress whispering against the grass and gravel.

In her grasp hung a bag that held everything she would need.

The air around her seemed charged with electricity and anticipation - as if those lying beneath the soil and ornate headstones knew exactly what she was up to.

She continued to the back of the cemetery where the headstones were old and worn, and the trees were thick, almost choking out the orange light of the harvest moon entirely. With every step, the odd mix of anxiety and certainty flowed more and more strongly through her.

There was an unmarked grave - a huge bench of marble with nothing more than the date of 1752 etched deeply into the side. There wasn't a soul alive in Winter River that knew whether that date was the date of birth or the date of death.

Lydia placed her fingertips against the surface. It was warm to the touch.

It had something to do with _him._

Carefully, she removed the items from her bag and placed them on the marker - a candle, a small tarnished dish. In that dish, she placed the only things that remained of him. They were items she had found and hidden, stashing them away in the bottom drawer of her vanity inside of a small, locked box that had once belonged to her mother. Dried rose petals that had fallen from the half-dead bouquet he'd conjured for her the evening of their wedding, the cigarette he had half smoked and carelessly tossed aside, and the ring he had given her. She laid all three in the dish, lit the candle, and sat back, staring at what little she had to offer. Hopefully, it would be enough.

With a match, she lit the candle, the sharp stench of sulfur permeating the air around her. The wick caught and the flame bounced erratically before settling into a strong, steady burn.

Kneeling in front of the marker, she pulled the final item from her bag - the Handbook for the Recently Deceased. A slip of black satin marked the page she needed.

She opened the book, setting it to the left of the dish.

 _Almost finished-_.

A prick to the finger from the pin she'd laces through the threaded seam of the bag, a drop of blood on the ring, another lit match. This one she used to light the cigarette, making a face as she inhaled the stale smoke. She set it back in the dish, letting it burn and looked at the words she had carefully put together.

The words mattered far less than the intention. According to the handbook, the intention was what drove the effectiveness of the spell.

Closing her eyes, Lydia drew in a slow breath, released it, and spoke into the night.

 _Hans vermilion, start of five._

 _Bright cotillion ravens dive._

 _Vows unfinished, now consummate._

 _With these words, I seal my fate._

She paused, holding her hand over the candle and squeezing one final drop of blood into the growing pool of wax.

 _Moon above, earth below_

 _Petals, ring and candle's glow_

Again she paused, noticing that the electricity in the air had intensified. The ground beneath her trembled, sounding like thunder in the distance yet the night remained still. Something was there with her, watching her every move. Waiting.

The flame of the candle turned green and black, growing and bathing the grave marker in an eerie glow. Lydia steeled herself for the next verse.

 _Sinners vice, virgins blood_

 _Death surround, moonlight flood_

 _Ghostly Haunting, I turn loose_

 _Beetlejuice_

 _Beetlejuice_

… _.Beetlejuice._

The flame went out and Lydia swallowed hard, her hand clenching into a fist against her chest. She stood, her legs trembling beneath her, threatening to give out. Had it worked?

She had expected more, expected it to resemble Otho's attempt at raising Barbara and Adam. It was the complete opposite, however. The night was just as still as it had started, the ground had ceased its trembling.

Disappointment, deep and sickeningly hot, filled her stomach.

And then she heard it -.

The faint sound of crunching gravel.

 _Could be a cemetery guard,_ she told herself.

Though, as she turned towards the sound, she knew to the depth of her soul that it wasn't. It was him, calmly walking up the path, black boots, striped suit, feral eyes glowing. The sight of him would have terrified anyone who wasn't her. What it did to her was something far different.

"Well well," he said as he came closer, his dry lips pulling into an evil grin, "if it isn't my lovely bride to be."

She answere his grin with one of her own, suddenly feeling confident, feminine and powerful. "If you'll still have me."

She knew he would. The look he was giving her that lacked any hint of hostility, told her that he would.

"I nearly got stuck in Saturn because of you, little witch." He gave her a sideways glance, reaching down and plucking the ring from the dish. "What makes you think you can just call me back and get your way?"

"Beetlejuice-."

He slapped a hand over her mouth, leaning down until his nose was nearly brushing hers. "Without the B words, Babes." His hand left her mouth, slipping around her neck, his nails raking over her skin and causing her to shiver.

"You've been haunting me," she murmured.

His gaze dipped to her lips. "So what if I have?"

"I'm not the only one who wants this. So get over the whole Saturn thing. We've got unfinished business."

His eyes narrowed, and then he chuckled, a low, sinful sound that twisted her insides pleasantly. She felt him take her hand, felt the cool ring slide down the length of her ring finger.

He leaned down and she closed her eyes, sighing as his cold breath chilled her neck. "Finish the spell, Babes."

Lydia Deetz smiled, leaning into her husband as his arm came around her waist.

"I do."


	6. Eating Candy

**A/N:** Getting to the boarderline M rating here! Enjoy! I know they did. :)

 **Eating Candy**

(Continued from Trick-or-Treat...because I can.)

The night started to die down sometime after 9:30pm. Lydia waited a half an hour after the last round of trick-or-treaters and, when a quick glance out the living room window showed no one wandering the lengthy path up the hill to their house, she called it a night.

She left Beetlejuice on the couch, grinning at the picture he made sitting comfortably, coat off and slung over the arm of the couch, sleeves of his maroon dress shirt rolled up nearly to the elbow, one ankle hooked over the other and resting on the coffee table.

Heat curled in her stomach.

Seeing him like that made it easy to forget that he was dead...and that he was her best friend.

Like this, he was a man, comfortable in his own skin and unknowingly twisting her emotions around his finger, stirring new found lust that left her breathless. It seemed like every time she thought she could handle the dizzying rush, it became that much stronger every time it made itself known. At this rate, she was going to have to stop calling on him so much until she could still the frantic tripping of her pulse every time he showed up.

She flipped the switch to dim the porch light.

"Officially closed for business."

Though, from the looks of it, there were a few treats left. Including one remaining piece of her all time favorite - a full sized milk chocolate, sea salt and caramel bar. She plucked it from the dish with a grin and pulled the wrapper back, breaking off one of the four squares that made up the bar and popping it in her mouth as she walked back into the living room.

"What did I miss?" she asked, flopping down next to Beetlejuice and tucking her legs under her.

"Babes, you've seen this movie like a thousand times," he muttered, clearly far too into a movie that he had seen a thousand times as well to bother with looking at her.

Lydia rolled her eyes, grinning at her best friend. She enjoyed the rare moments when he was nearly human. Especially when those moments gave her time to watch him without him having any idea that she was.

Breaking off another piece of the candy bar, she chewed on it thoughtfully as she studied the ghoul beside her. Over the years, she had changed – noticeably so. Beetlejuice had changed as well, but his changes were subtle – cleaner shirts, suits with thicker black stripes than white, hair that didn't always seem so tangled. She hardly ever caught him eating bugs around her anymore. Her changes were biological where his…his seemed born more out of consideration for her. Though she never would have asked that he change himself just for her sake, she still appreciated his efforts.

He was fine to her just the way he was.

The only thing she would ever change about him was his feelings towards her. That "friend zone" was becoming a thin line she precariously balanced along day to day, struggling with the idea of just staying his friend. She had no idea what side he stood on, but it would have been nice to know if she was the only one _on_ that side and these feelings were something she would have to move on from before she was too far gone and unable to.

As if noticing her gaze fixed on him, Beetlejuice finally glanced away from the television.

"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly and a grin twitching to life at the corners of his mouth.

Lydia shook her head, smiling. "Nothing." She took another piece of the candy bar, leaving one square. "New tie?"

"This old thing?" his voice took on a southern debutante drawl and she couldn't help giggling. "Land sakes, no, I just had it lyin' around."

With a tiny short, she nudged his leg with her foot.

He grabbed the offending appendage before she could pull it back, tickling her instep. "Easy on the merchandise there, Lyds. This suit cost me a whole two months' worth of hustling Neitherworld idiots!"

"I'm sure it did." She attempted to yank her foot back. "You _know_ my feet aren't ticklish."

"Mhmm, I also know the rest of you is. What's that?"

He nodded to the one remaining piece of chocolate. "Delia's idea of treats. Gourmet chocolate. At least she got my favorite this year."

"Lemme try."

She gaped at him dramatically. "Are you serious? This was the last one! No way am I sharing!"

"Aw, Babes, come on!" He tugged on her foot. "You're not gonna share with your best friend?"

He caught her behind the knee, lightly digging his nails in and she wriggled. "He never shares with me. Why should I?"

"Because that's what you do, Lyds!" he argued, grinning widely. "You always share with me."

His hand moved up higher and she jerked, laughing. "Beej, stop!"

"Not until you give me that candy!"

"No!" Again his hand inched up and she struggled against him, trying in vain to free herself. Instead, she ended up half under him and much more trapped. "Stop!"

"Candy!"

"Not on your afterlife!" In a desperate attempt to get the tickling to cease, Lydia tossed the last piece in her mouth, grinning smugly at him as she chewed and wiggled her empty fingers in front of his face. "All gone! Sorry, Beej."

He snatched her hand, shouting with maniacal glee when he found traces of melted chocolate on her fingertips. "You ain't winnin' this yet, Lyds!"

Her fingers were suddenly in his mouth, his lips wrapped around them and the situation was no longer funny.

Her laugh died on a gasp as lust exploded hot and wild in the pit of her stomach. She went still, staring wide-eyed at him.

The situation had clearly lost its hilarity for him as well as the reality of what he was doing sunk in. Slowly, he moved her hand away from his mouth, his gaze never leaving hers.

There were no whispered questions, no nervous laughter or hesitation. There was only that breathless beat of stillness where time seemed to stop all together. And then he was kissing her, his hand raking into the hair at the back of her head, his lips moving over hers with desperate, searching hunger.

Lydia moaned deep in her throat, hooking her leg over the back of his and clasping his face between her hands. He caressed her side, her hip, down to her knee – his touch rough and yet somehow tender at the same time, the touch of a man who'd wanted something for years and was now getting exactly what he wanted.

At least, that's what Lydia hoped it was.

One impatient yank at the hem of her leggings and her hopes were confirmed.

"That's not chocolate," she managed in between kisses.

He pulled back, grinning down at her. "Yeah, but I bet it tastes a hell of a lot better."


	7. Halloween Party

**A/N:** Notice the M rating. *Evil grin* Smut ahead. You've been warned.

 **Halloween Party**

There was nothing more cliché than a frat party.

Not a single damn thing. Oh, wait…no, he was mistaken. There sure as hell was something more cliché than a frat party and that was a Halloween costume frat party.

For Beetlejuice, it was a much unneeded personal hell. How he even managed to end up at one was beyond him.

He stood at the bar, surveying the crowd of undulating, intoxicated bodies and sneering at just how distasteful he found the entire situation. Not even straight whiskey could tamper down the disgusting taste left in his mouth, the smell of overused cologne and perfume, sweat and keg beer, pot, or thick, pasty Halloween makeup.

How the _fuck_ had he let himself get dragged into this?

Better question, how the fuck had Lydia ever come to the conclusion that something like this was a good idea? What the hell had she been thinking? And where the hell was she?

He pushed through a group of beer chugging idiots surrounded by moronic girls all sporting the same ridiculous "I just got out of the shower" costume and finally caught sight of her across the room. She was standing with Bertha who, for once, didn't look like an awkward teenager. Later years had been okay to old Burp. As had braces and a new hairstyle. Though compared to Lydia, she was nothing.

Lydia, _his Lydia_ – now there was someone the years had been gracious with. Or so he had thought until she'd brought him to this shithole and he started to seriously question her sanity.

She was sporting some getup he thought she would never wear – a black sequined leotard with fishnets and blood red heels. On her head, she wore a headband with fuzzy cat ears. It was sexy as hell; he wouldn't deny that for one damned minute. But it wasn't Lydia.

She couldn't possibly want to be part of this crowd….to fit in with these jokes. And if she did…where did that leave him?

"Oh, my gawd, Lydia Deetz!"

The shrill screech nearly ruptured his ear drums and he turned to glare at whoever that voice belonged to. It sounded sickeningly familiar.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, fake tan – older Clair Brewster in a far-too-revealing bunny get up. Not remotely anything he wanted to even accidentally catch a glance of.

"Great," he muttered, tossing the rest of his drink back and wishing it would do _something_ to make this night one he could forget. That pesky death thing, though – never allowing a guy to spend a party in a drunken stupor like everyone around him.

"Claire," Lydia said with a placating smile. "I'm not at all surprised to see you here."

"Like, for reals, Lydia," Clair laughed, grabbing Lydia's wrist and giving it a pull. "You sooooo need to play this game we've been playing. Seven minutes of sin! It's a-freakin'-mazing! It's like seven minutes in heaven but totally x-rated!" She lifted a manicured hand, snapping her fingers loudly and before Beetlejuice even knew what was happening, two hulking jocks were forcefully shoving him along behind Lydia and Claire towards the back corner of the room.

"You've got seven minutes, Deetz – better make 'em count!"

She shoved Lydia into the closet and stepped aside just in time to miss being run over by Beetlejuice and the brute force she'd snapped up. Not that he wouldn't have loved running her blonde ass over but every scenario he'd played out where that would actually happen didn't involve two guys forcing him to do it.

"Hey, get your fuckin' hands off me!" he snarled, yanking against their hold and forcing himself not to use his juice just to knock their stupid asses over and walk away. Oh no, he'd been dumb enough to promise Lydia he wouldn't.

He was shoved into a dark closet, catching a quick glimpse of Lydia's startled face before the door was slammed behind them and the room burst into laughter.

"Now, can I use my juice?" he muttered.

"Yeah, go for it, Beej."

He caught a hint of something in her voice, something that set him on edge. He juiced up a candle, lit it and let it float in the air above them. Lydia watched it, hugging herself. She didn't look like Lydia. Not _his_ Lydia.

"Babes, why the hell are we here?" he snapped, fed the hell up with everything and unwilling to put up with any more shit than he absolutely had to.

She flinched, looking down, her arms tightening. "I don't know."

"What are you tryin' to do? Prove to these yuppies that you can fit in with their crowd? Is that what you want?" He advanced on her, trying not to feel like he should blame her for his foul mood but having no one else to direct his irritation towards.

Lydia shook her head. "No. I just- "

"Just what? Wanted to do a keg stand? Wanted to pal around with Claire and play nice?"

"Beetlejuice, no! I just didn't know how-."

"How to what?" He threw his hands up, "How to go to a decent party with people we actually like? People who won't shove us in a fuckin' closet for some game?"

"Beej-."

"No, hey! If this is what you want. By all fuckin' means, seven minutes of sin it is!" He grabbed her arms, leaning down until he was face to face with her, all the while grappling with the sudden onslaught of heat that caught him completely off guard. He pushed harder, attempting to ignore it. "Let's get this party started, since this is what you want so damn bad."

And then she tilted his world completely on its ass with two simple words.

"It is."

"Wait, what?" He stopped pushing and stared down at her. "Lyds-."

She licked her lips and it was then that he finally noticed the quick, shallow breaths she was taking, the flush in her cheeks and her eyes – how the hell had he missed just how dark those had gotten?

"This-," she said, swallowing hard and taking a step forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest and the whole concept of friendship was quickly taking a welcome backseat to something deeper. "This is exactly what I want, Beej."

Her hand curled around the back of his neck and with a roughness he never knew she possessed, she yanked him down and crushed her mouth to his. Beetlejuice was stunned enough to do nothing, though it only lasted for a mere handful of seconds. Not enough to make her think she'd done something wrong. Because, whoever save his immortally damned soul, she sure as shit hadn't.

And then he was kissing her back, sweeping his tongue into the welcoming confines of her sweet mouth and drowning in the taste of her.

He gripped her hips, pushing her backwards until the wall stopped them, then easily lifted her, groaning when her legs locked around his hips and he could feel the very heat of her burning through the fabric of his suit.

"This is gonna take a lot longer than seven minutes," he muttered, raking his teeth over the skin of her neck where her pulse tripped wildly.

"It can take longer later," she said breathlessly. She reached for his belt, her greedy little fingers yanking at the clasp. Her teeth nipped at his ear and he pressed against that heat, achingly hard.

Shit, when did Lydia become the one who could do this to him? And did it really matter?

"I want you, Beetlejuice."

It was a breathy, exotic, hot little whisper that twisted him in every way possible and he knew that nothing mattered, right now. Nothing but the woman tempting him in ways he'd only ever been able to dream of her tempting him.

He jerked the flimsy straps of her get up to the side and she pulled her arms free, proudly exposing herself to him with a cocky little grin that drove him wild. She could look at him like that all day every day for the rest of his life and he'd never get tired of it.

"Do you have any idea," she purred, giving his belt a derisive yank and finally freeing the clasp, "how difficult it is to want someone _this_ bad and wait, and wait, and _wait_ for him to get a damn clue while you're forced to just sit and deal with this…this…need to have him? Constantly convincing myself that it would be more than worth the wait? I thought I was going to have to commit myself."

He grinned, eagerly helping her rid herself of the last of her clothing, but leaving the heels and fishnets right where they were. She was a whole new kind of tempting, standing there in nothing but those, that delicious look of hunger and desperation topping off the desirable little package he was going to enjoy sinking into more than he'd enjoyed anything in his afterlife. "Might still need to commit yourself, babes. Waiting around for a dead guy to get a clue? You were right about one thing though-."

He watched her pupils dilate as he closed the distance between them, watched the hunger blaze in her eyes and damn if it wasn't the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. For now. He was sure there were a million different positions he could get her into, a million different noises he could pull from those full, pouty lips that would be even sexier than how she looked right now. He could imagine that seeing the lively flush in those cheeks and her hair all tousled from an hour of unadulterated sex would be his undoing all together.

He slid a hand up her leg and her head dropped back, her eyes sliding closed. "This is going to be well worth the damn wait."

On the last word, he slid his fingers into her heat and she gasped, then moaned, her hips pressing against his hand. A few confident strokes and she was a mess – tense, writhing against him, her brows furrowed adorably, her hand reaching for his wrist, pushing him away and then pulling him back, not trying to set a pace but desperately searching for what she'd been unknowingly denied for years.

He gave into the desire to taste her, running his tongue down her neck. It was all he'd allow himself for now. This was Lydia's moment and he was going to make damn sure she got exactly what she was looking for before trying to get anything for himself. He was a selfish bastard most days, but when it counted, when it was Lydia…he'd give her any pleasure her little heart could handle before taking anything for himself.

"Beej-," she cried softy, her voice thin, catching on the "e" when he pushed deeper, rubbing his thumb against her. Her nails dug into his shoulders and her legs tightened around him.

"I got ya, Babes," he promised, his own voice unsteady.

She was almost too much for him. And when her inner muscles tightened around him, when her body went tense, her back arched and a low, enraptured moan escaped her lips, he gritted his teeth and told himself _she_ would be worth the wait.

She shuddered in his arms, her head dropping to his shoulder. Gradually, her breathing steadied. He was pretty sure they were running out of those seven minutes.

"Get me the hell out of here," she murmured, pressing her lips to his neck.

"Aw, you don't wanna stay and party with the morons?"

"I only wanted to come here because I knew being alone with you would be torture."

He pulled back, grinning down at her. "Wasn't it?"

"Hmm, not _that_ kind of torture," she said, kissing him. "I could go for that kind again. Bring me home."

He gathered her in his arms, more than ready to do exactly what she was suggesting and get the hell out of the mess she'd unnecessarily put them in. He got it. He really did. And he felt horrible that she felt the need to reduce herself to something as idiotic as a frat party just to distract herself from wanting him.

Wanting him…of all people…a ghost. Damn, he was lucky. "Say the words, Lyds."

"I'll scream them if you want me to."

He growled, nipping at her bare shoulder. "Tease. Say 'em."

She whispered his name three times, reaching between them and running her hands over his length on the third and they were gone.

The closet door was yanked open by Claire, all too eager to see if that little weirdo Lydia had actually done anything with the nasty old Handyman. She was more than happy to embarrass the both of them. "Oh, my gawd, with the gross handyman Deetz!"

Nothing greeted her but an empty closet, a slip of forgotten sequined clothing and the laughter of the crowd around her.


	8. Getting Dressed Up

**Getting Dressed Up**

It started simply enough - an innocent request for him to use his juice to help Lydia speed up the process of picking out a costume. She suggested, he complied. And all he had to do was lay on the bed and watch the show. Add a beer and it wasn't a half bad deal at all.

And his Lyds, she kept it pretty clean.

Wolf costume, dead bride, zombie nerd - one after another she rambled them off.

Request, snap, request, snap.

He would think the first thing that came to his mind, and she'd be in it moments later.

A Hippie - bellbottoms and a fringed top.

Cleopatra - a gauzy smock and gold headdress.

Vampire queen - a red velvet cape and fangs.

She stood before the vanity mirror, studying each outfit quickly before asking for another.

Witch, black cat, Queen Elizabeth, Guinevere, dominatrix-.

"Beej-."

He looked up with a hum, so far settled into the pattern that he hardly noticed what he was doing. It really would have been a shame had she not called out his name in that soft, feathery whisper of hers to get his attention.

Black leather and red lace had come to mind. A quick flash of something he'd seen in a magazine once long before he had someone like Lydia Deetz to occupy his every twisted fantasy. She wore the look confidently, striding slowly to the bed in a pair of wickedly high black heels.

"Dominatrix?" she asked, going to her knees on the bed and slapping the whip he'd juiced up against her open palm.

"Damn," he murmured, giving her a slow once-over. "Sorry?"

Red lips stretched over perfect white teeth as she smiled. The whip moved from the palm of her hand to his chest.

"Take off your shirt," she demanded, her voice a smooth, sultry quality he'd never heard before.

Of all the damn times to be dead. He enjoyed every minute of what was currently happening and every minute of what would happen...but damn, what he wouldn't have given to be able to really feel it.

He started to unbutton his shirt, never taking his eyes off the devious little minx. "You all done playing dress up?"

"New game," she murmured, then slapped the whip against his chest. "Shirt...off...now."

"Yes ma"am."

"Master."

Beetlejuice grinned. Maybe she'd get him to really feel something after all. "Yes Master."


	9. Graveyard

**A/N:** It's that time of year again! Feelin' the Halloween itch. Hopefully I can finish off the drabbles that I started last year. Here's the first effort!

 **GRAVEYARD**

She always dug places like this.

The weathered headstones, the shadows that clung to the absence of life, the mounds of fresh turned earth and moss that clung to stones long forgotten, the smell of death permeating everything.

This was her kind of place. Here, among the dead, she was always comfortable.

And the Winter River cemetery - it had some age to it.

Beetlejuice leaned against a tree, cigarette between his teeth, hands jammed in the deep pockets of his striped trousers. His lazy gaze followed a cemetery worker as he shoveled the remains of dirt from a bucket on a beat up skid steer. He'd done most of the strenuous labor with the machine but, out of some deeply ingrained respect for the dead, he'd gotten out and used a shovel to move the last remnants of the dirt instead of just carelessly dumping it on the fresh grave.

The man finished his work as the sun sank into the horizon. He then moved the spray of elegant flowers that he had placed beside the grave marker over the mound of tilled, black dirt. It was gaudy as far as Beetlejuice was concerned - not that he was a great judge of floral arrangements. He just couldn't stomach that much red and creamy white in one place. It was obnoxious, how the colors stood out against the polished dark wood of the casket, how they clashed so blatantly with the gold trim.

Gold.

As if anyone wanted the box they were buried in to be trimmed in gold.

The man straightened from the spray. He folded his hands and bowed his head. Had it been anyone else, Beetlejuice would have snorted scornfully at his actions.

The caretaker had worked the cemetery for years though. He paid his respects to the dead, even when he didn't know them. He greeted them as he passed their markers like old friends, resting his gnarled fingers on the granite curves of certain ones that maybe, on some level, he had known.

A guy like that didn't deserve scorn so Beetlejuice gave him none.

When the man left, Beetlejuice pushed himself away from the tree with a grunt and started up the hill to the grave, smoke trailing behind him in the still pre-evening air.

He came to a stop where the grass gave way to turned earth and used the toe of his boot to shove a stray clump back onto the mound.

A life cut this short. It was a shame really. No announcement made to acknowledge the passing, no time for immediate family to make arrangements. The plans had been made quickly, carelessly...the person calling the shots eager to have it all done and over with.

"As if I would have ever picked roses."

Beetlejuice's lips turned up in a cynical grin and he glanced at the girl beside him.

"Not a fan of the classics?" he asked.

She sneered, her blood red rips standing out against the pale complection of her white-blue skin. "Black roses, maybe."

"Too predictable, Babes. I think you woulda at least had enough respect for poor Chucky to pick something he loved. Something he would think suited ya."

"Wouldn't it have been nice if _she_ would have cared enough to do that?"

"Nope. She only cared enough to kill ya."

Lydia Deetz looked up at him, her gaze sad. Not her usual "depressed teen" sad...but the sadness of a girl who knew she'd left the world before her time. "So...she did then. And here I thought I was just getting sick."

Beetlejuice nodded. "You were. But it wasn't natural."

She hummed and looked back down at the grave.

Her grave.

"Why are you here?" she asked after the daylight had bled from the sky and left behind an inky, star-studded night. "I don't serve much of a purpose to you as a dead wife."

"Nah. Ya don't. But me, Babes? I'm a sucker for vengeance."

She took his hand, twined her fingers through his. "Good. Because I'm feeling particularly vengeful."

He chuckled, a dark, sinister noise that drew a grin from her and he tightened his hand around hers. He turned to face her, tipping her chin up with the tips of his nails and leaning down until his lips were a mere breath from hers. He captured her lips in a kiss that she melted into, her willingness stroking fires to life deep within his damned soul. "Lay those magic words on me, Babes and lets go have us some fun."


End file.
